Finding a Promised Memory
by Night-Light11
Summary: A survivor of the Titanic recovers from near death, only to discover he is haunted by a memory lost. A JackRose fic.
1. Prelude

Finding a Promised Memory

Summary: A survivor of the Titanic recovers from near death, only to discover he is haunted by a memory lost. A Jack/Rose fic.

Disclaimer: I by no means own any rights or otherwise from any movie, book, etc…of titanic or its characters. I'm doing this on a whim of something that I want to see happen, darned it!

A.N.- Because I am doing this on a whim of an idea that's been plugged in my mind for some time now, I will need reviews to keep this up! Support, it's all about the support! And the fact that I love to read my own stories ;) SO…please review and I'll make sure to keep us all happy. I am taking some liberties with the events that happened in the movie, mostly concerning the 'old rose' events but hopefully not too many that it will be unbelievable.

…………………………..

(Jack)

I felt a sudden rush of renewed coldness flood over my face and instantly was drawn to consciousness. My stiff body clenched with the need to take a breath but for reasons I didn't understand, I knew enough not to. I tried to move in the icy tomb I found myself in. Up, I heard my mind whisper through the darkness. My eyes were closed, I realized almost too late. I forced them open despite the sting. I saw little but it was enough. My limbs were numb and I found I could barely move them in my attempts to push my body to the small hint of light I assumed was upward. I could feel my chest threatening to still, longing for the comfort I knew the darkness would provide. Yet I refused. The feeling was there. Desperate. A screaming severity that made me continue fighting. The surroundings had become a haze in my slowed mind yet a single thought urged me onward. I couldn't let go.

I became aware of an object within reach and I grasped. I watched my disconnected fingers, only able to will them to take hold. The freezing air bit at my skin as I pulled my head out of the water. It didn't take long to register that the floating object was none other than a frozen corpse. I didn't stop to think that I should rightfully be the same before I began to pull the loose life vest from the man's body. A whistle sounded from a distance. Perhaps it was closer. I couldn't tell. The jacket was more difficult to wear than I hoped, so I settled for a single hole around one arm. It was enough to keep me floating.

Swim. I had to keep swimming. The whistle had stopped and my sight was blurred. I thought I saw a faint light from the corner of my eye and instantly tried to focus on it. So I swam. Or what could have been an attempt to swim, pushing frozen objects and faces aside as I moved. My thoughts became muffled beyond anything but swimming. Voices could be heard drawing closer. I couldn't tell from where until something firm latched onto me and pulled me up from the water. It was soon after that I found I couldn't stop shivering. In a way I almost wished to be back in the cold embrace that would allow my body to finally rest. I knew I couldn't though. I had to fight. I had to live. The urgent determination refused to loosen its hold on me. I pulled the now surrounding blankets closer as I tried to focus on any sound, any movement around me. I felt hands moving my frozen skin. I felt. I didn't know what would come of me next, but I was awake…and I felt.


	2. Recovery

(Jack)

The following days passed with little outside the pain and disorientation. I couldn't move myself, but pride lay forgotten as I faded in and out of consciousness. They were amazed I hadn't given up. They couldn't understand that I had refused to. The shivering grew worse the warmer they attempted to get me. Maybe it was a good sign.

Live. I focused on the word. I focused on the beautiful, amazing colors around me even in the small room that had become my haven. I focused on anything I could to keep myself conscious until the times they told me to rest. They kept me away from the other survivors and under constant watch. Whispers of a miracle were passed around under breath as well as the danger I still lay in. Honestly, I didn't pay much mind. With each day that I improved the more I became aware. Of course the questions came. At first I didn't respond because I wasn't able to or didn't understand. Then I soon found, I didn't have the answers.

"What is your name, son?"

He was one of the doctors, I learned. My head swarmed with confusion. Why should such a simple question do that? The meaning behind the confusion hit hard.

"I…I don't know."

They spent some time after that, questioning me further. They couldn't figure if the loss was from emotional trauma or a lingering effect of the hypothermia. The only hope, the only comfort they were able to give me was to give it time. Time, they said. Perhaps I would regain it. Their biggest concern was getting my body temperature back up to where it should be. Apparently I had been the worst case. They hadn't expected me to recover.

The memory never came back. Some faces flickered in and out of my mind, but no names, no places. They began to tire from calling me 'that patient', or 'the man who lost his memory'. We decided to call me John. It was a good, Christian name they said. Who was I to argue? John Calvert until I ever learned my own. A young woman suggested it. Rachel Spinner. She was a volunteering passenger I quickly learned. She often came in to talk, and claimed it was a last name of one of her old friends from before her family moved to New York. I found it sounded nice.

I never left the cabin until we had docked in New York. Once there, I was still far too weak to walk and needed to be taken to a nearby hospital for some time. They had scanned around, asking if anyone was looking for a young man meeting my description. Apparently there were a wide number of responses, some so frantic they feared to take them in to see me. Women, longing for lost loves. Children, looking for fathers, for brothers. Mothers, anxious to find their sons. None of them recognized me. Except for one.

An older women, distinctively upper class. Her eyes were tired and red from tears. She stared at me like I was with plague.

"Where is my daughter?" The words were quietly spoken with anger.

"I'm sorry. I don't…"

"Where is Rose!"

A nurse approached the woman, attempting to explain. "I'm sorry, M'am, do you know who this man is? He's been bad off and can't even remember his own name. I am going to have to ask you not to upset him."

"After all the upset he has caused myself and my daughter I hardly think I need to spare him any of it," she replied in a biting tone. She turned sharply back to me. "I will ask you again, Mr. Dawson, where is my daughter?"

Mr. Dawson, the name ran through my memories but I still couldn't place it. Apparently that is what this woman knew me as. But who could be sure? Had I done something terrible? Was her daughter there when they rescued me? Did I leave her to die? My heart suddenly seized with worry.

"I don't know."

I looked back at the women. There was something about her hair…and the eyes. So familiar. I found I wanted forgiveness for something I didn't even know I did.

"Please…I don't know what I did, to you or your daughter, but I don't think I would have done anything on purpose to hurt you. Either of you. Maybe I'm wrong. I can't remember anything. I damn well wish I did. Anything at all. What happened with your daughter?"

The woman's breath hitched. Her face gave away the sorrow. I realized then that the anger towards me was more to cover her pain than anything I could have done.

"If it's to forget that you want, then I too will allow you to be forgotten. I lost her because of you. I hope you rot in this bed, Mr. Dawson. That you should live when my Rose…" Her voice broke, the tears fell. There was nothing else said as she quickly made her way to the door.

"Sir?" The nurse's voice caught my attention easily, despite her quietness. "Sir, she called you Mr. Dawson. Is that your name?"

I thought for a moment but decided until I knew more, I would keep the temporary name. But it was a start to finding out the answers I needed.

"My name is still John Calvert, for now." I offered her a brief smile and she nodded back with one of her own.

"Well, Mr. Calvert, get some rest. The doctor will be in to check on you later."

Left to my thoughts, I promised myself I would get out of this place and get well. In every sense of the word. My thoughts drifted to an unknown woman by the name of Rose.

* * *

A.N.- Again, with the taking some liberties with the John Calvert bit...but it's my story, right? ;) 


	3. A Familiar Face

"John?"

The sweet natured voice searched around the back of the tall, stone building. The young woman's eyes sparkled as she found her target resting on a dirty curbside, pad and pencil in hand. His gaze was focused intensely upon an elderly women sitting just inside a nearby window. As she approached, she saw that he had created a new masterpiece. He had been sketching her, the image almost completed on the paper resting on his lap. The woman in the image wore a wishful expression, seemingly lost in thought. Her lips were turned downward just slightly as though she had experienced a loss. A loss Rachel knew John related too despite his lack of memory.

"John?" She reached out tentatively to touch his arm. He never jumped when caught unaware. He never gave an appearance of fear. He merely turned to look at her and the smile took a little longer to form.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, but I should have known to come out here first. Mark's been asking where you are. You said you'd only be gone for thirty."

The smile faltered as he looked back down at the drawing.

"Musta lost track of time again."

"Sometimes I wonder if you were this bad before you lost that memory of yours."

There was a hint of playfulness in her voice, but the seriousness of his situation never lessened. It was eating him away, and she couldn't save him.

It had been three years since the miracle recovery. He had been near frantic to get well and out of the constant care of the nurses and doctors who were firmly set on getting him cured. Physically, one could hardly tell he had been so near death. Emotionally, he was confused and anxious to the point of exhaustion. The memories seemed so close at times, only to drift out of reach the next second. Often, he would wake from a mix of nightmares to dreams he longed never to wake from. He never remembered them.

The charities directed by the city were welcomed by many of the Titanic passengers. John found himself offered a number of small end jobs to regain anything of the life he possibly had before the disaster. Despite the events, he paid no mind to living near the water. In fact the sea air was refreshing to say the least. There was something about it that calmed him. Something he knew he couldn't leave yet. He had taken a position as a driver for a small cargo distributor. Rachel had offered it to him. Mostly fabrics and imported goods from England. It was a respectable job delivering to fairly classy areas of the low-end upper class. He took the position to heart and within a year's time had worked his way into supervision.

The young woman continued to watch him with a hint of worry. She decided to cover it up with a smile, as so often happened. He made no move to stand, so she opted to settle carefully at his side. Her tanned skirt was carefully pulled and the surface checked for anything that would mar it.

"She has a young woman that visits every so many days," he said quietly. The woman had moved from the window yet he still watched. "She might be family, yet she never stays. She brings her some money. Sometimes clothes. The two of them always become so happy during that time, but then it's done. She goes back to looking so lonely."

"I know that look," Rachel commented. Her pale blue eyes caught his for a brief moment when he turned. "Even in a room full of people, I can see it in your eyes. How many years will you do this to yourself?"

She had to look away then. Emotions she had learned to push aside attempted to hide once more. This time she would say something though. Not all she wanted to, but something.

"You have so much you could do with your life. Something to make with yourself. You have a chance here for a family. Isn't that something you'd want? I…," she bit her lip anxiously, fearing she was talking too much. "I wonder if you aren't pushing that aside in hopes for a dream. A memory that isn't coming back. I'm sorry if I'm being too bold, but I'd like to think I have earned it. How many years more will I stand by your side before you even notice I'm here? I'm not a dream, John. Will you ever give me the chance to show you?"

She hadn't meant to say so much. Her face felt flush with embarrassment as she stood once more to make her way to the warehouse.

John watched her leave wishing he could have comforted her in some way. Told her what it was she wanted to hear. She was in love with him. She had been for some time. She was from a respectable family. She was beautiful to say the least. He would be lucky to have her as a wife. So why couldn't he let her in?

He looked down at the woman's portrait he had so recently done. Drawing had come natural, as though he had done it for years. Mostly people. He loved to learn their stories, as though the images would capture them for eternity. He turned the page to one created the day before. When the young woman had come to visit. She didn't often go near the window for him to see clearly, until yesterday. Even then, it was only a short time. He drew most of the image after she had left, it practically created itself. Her curled hair. If only he could have shown its red hue. The shape of her lips. The eyes that seemed to shine with life. And yet…

He closed the pad. It was time to go back to work. One last look at the empty window confirmed his decision to go visit when he next had a chance.


	4. Visiting

Author's Note:

I want to apologize for not updating sooner. This story has mostly been put on hold due to so many projects on my plate atm. I will try to update here and there as I am able. The more pestering and pushing you reader's give me, the faster I might get some stuff out  so we will see, here's a double post to help!

…………………………………..

(Jack)

Our company may not have broken the gap between the upper and lower classes, but we were pretty well off considering. The area was nice if not that fancy. The people lacked the money, but not the heart. That was the sort of building I found myself entering. The painted bricks were chipping with age. A rat scampered under a loosened stairway leading upward into the four story apartments. Still, there were a couple of bushes decorating the entrance, neatly trimmed. The walkways were swept clean.

The doors were opened, allowing any breeze passage during the warm, late summer days. A pair of young boys practically ran me over in the doorway. I couldn't help but smile. I made my way up the stairs to the third floor. The woman's room should be right…

I knocked carefully, knowing she should be home, but not sure of what exactly I was looking for. It took a minute. I knocked again and heard a muffled voice on the other side.

"Just a moment, I'm coming."

The door opened and I attempted a welcoming smile. She stood at the doorway, leaning on a clumsy looking cane. A dull colored wrap covered her silver hair. She smiled back, but seemed a little unsure.

"I'm sorry Ma'am, I don't mean to disturb you," I reached out my hand in greeting and she took it hesitantly. "My name is John Calvert. I work down at Spinner's Imports."

She nodded, the smile. "I'm familiar with it. Marshall once mentioned working there."

"Marshall Gibbs?"

"Yes! Yes that's him. Sweet boy, if terribly quiet. Lives just down the hall there. Is that why you are here? To see him? I certainly hope he hasn't gotten himself into any trouble."

A chuckle escaped at the speed she had begun to talk. "No, no ma'am, no trouble. I'm in the right spot. So long as this is, in fact you." I took out the sketched image from the pad held securely in my hand. She looked confused at my action, even more so when I handed the picture to her. In hardly a moment she was beaming like a child at Christmas. Her smile wide, unafraid to show the dotted teeth.

"Oh," She suddenly grew flustered as if she was breaking some code in manners. "Come in, come in. Do you drink tea? I can get some tea for you."

"I would love some." I heard myself say as I let the elderly woman lead me inside.


	5. Broken Glass

(Rose)

She couldn't stop talking about him. John Calvert. As though she were taking the role of matchmaker. She knew I was not looking yet. I don't think I was quite ready to put myself into a relationship again. Her description of him made me certain that I wasn't. Even the way she described his drawings. He was too much like Jack. It was too soon, even these three years later.

She said he was going to be back. He had promised to visit whenever he was able and volunteered to frame the image he had drawn of her. Probably just a shameless, self promotion. Some people would do near anything for it. It was nice though, that she had found another person to visit.

I had met her in one of the shelters after we had docked in New York. They had a few in the area, helping survivors get back on their feet. Get started in this new world. So many had lost loved ones, support, some carried their lives with them on that boat, and lost most if not all of it. Abigail was one of those.

Her son was traveling with her. He had found a job in the city and decided it was worth the move from England. He was all she had. She was given a place on a lifeboat. He was not.

She was so strong despite her loss. There was a comfort she gave to me that I imagine can only be shared by others like us. For a long time we discussed the past, careful to avoid our seaworthy tales. I was the first to break, tears relentlessly falling as I recounted the details of that night, give or take some crucial elements. All that was important was she knew I had loved. I recalled the good times, none of the adversity we had struggled through in our short time together. As I told of his passion for drawing, recounting my embarrassment of learning one model's profession, we both had a needed laugh. I tried not to cry.

I think I hid it well as Abigail remembered her own portrait and immediately tried to compose herself as she stood. I insisted there was no hurry, but did no more good than telling a bird to walk instead of fly.

"Here, you really must see." She moved with what might have been once graceful strides, had age and the limp not gotten in the way, holding out the picture. "I got a frame from Julia on the first floor. Her husband is rather good with widdling and they often have people offer to buy them. But can you imagine, she refused to let me pay. Stubborn girl, lovely in every other sense, but stubborn."

The frame was relatively simple. The wooden texture was smooth as I took it in my hand. I turned it to examine the picture, determined to be a firm critic of the most-likely amateurish image. It was in that second that I lost my grip, the framed art clashing to the ground. The glass shattered loudly, startling Miss Abby, yet I hardly noticed the sound. It took a minute to realize I had stopped breathing.

"Rose?" The voice sounded distant. My thoughts sped on. It couldn't possibly be…

"Dear? What's wrong?" The worried tone drew my wide-eyed attention. I couldn't speak. The coincidences were too much.

Abigail's focus was on me, not the broken gift on the ground. I quickly stooped to pick it up once more. I think a piece of the glass bit into my finger. I muttered an apology as I quickly ran to the door and out into the hall. I had to know.


	6. Questioning Anxiety

(Rose)

Before I knew it, I found myself standing outside the large brick warehouse I had been daring to avoid. The front entrance seemed to be decorated for the more notable clients. The windows, cleaned to perfection, were lined with a pale yellow fabric. My hand felt the coolness of the brass handle against my skin as I opened the door.

I could see why they chose yellow. The sunlight that found its way inside seemed to intensify with the hue. A few mirrors added to the effect as they reflected the surrounding room. A desk rested near the back and I found a young woman look up at me with a smile. She wore a classy, but simple skirt and shirt set. The blue went well with the yellows. My hands were shaking.

"Can I help you?"

I gripped the broken object in my hand tighter.

"I need to see a Mr. Calvert, please." I could hear the urgency in my own voice. The woman seemed to grow concerned. "John Calvert."

"I think he might have left already," she replied cautiously. "If you'll wait here just a minute, I can go check for you. May I have a name?"

"Rose Daw…" I paused mid-way. The name had become so common from my lips. "DeWitt Bukater. Rose DeWitt Bukater." I could practically see her smile become forced.

As she disappeared behind a back door I found myself focusing on a rather plain pen that sat on the desk. I could do this. My heart didn't seem to be able to slow down.

……………………………………

Rachael paused just after the door closed behind her. She leaned against the back as confusion began to overwhelm. Rose. The name had haunted her nearly ever day since John had spoken of it. A piece of his past was waiting out there, waiting to crush what ever hopes she still retained. It practically was smothering even as she looked down the narrow hall that led to the warehouse.

"May the good Lord forgive me for what I am about to do," she whispered softly, making the sign of the cross. With quick determination she set off into the busy shipment expanse.


	7. Knowing Better

(Rose)

It seemed forever had come and gone before the door opened once more. The girl appeared and I found my breath stalled until the man accompanying her revealed himself.

"Mr. Calvert, this is DeWitt Bukater to see you."

He was young. His hair was a mild pale shade, trimmed short. I could feel the denial and disappointment begin to wash over.

"Mr. Calvert?" I questioned with a skeptical tone. "Mr. John Calvert?"

"Yeah, that'd be me." He had a toothy smile. His eyes were too pale. In all, he looked nothing like Jack.

"I…I saw this picture." My voice was detached. "You gave it to Mrs…"

"Miss Abby, yes." He smiled widely and I suddenly found myself angry. "Oh dear, looks like I'll have to get it fixed. Is that why you came to see me? Sweet of you."

I couldn't believe it when he reached out to take it from me. I stepped back.

"No…it's just….I was expecting…" I looked over to the young woman. Her attention was directed into retrieving a book. Had she been reading it when I first arrived? I think the man was talking again. I couldn't tell as my mind was racing. It wasn't right. The drawing was too similar.

He reached out once more and I found myself catching a glance at his hands. The short digits looked stiff. Calluses rested on the inside of his thumbs. I knew he couldn't possibly have had the skill to create that image. A quick glance at the woman again revealed a slight smirk to herself. It was enough.

I took off for the doorway before either of them knew what I was attempting. I quickly passed through until I was in the busy atmosphere in the back. Crates were being passed from the carts to the designated locations.

"Jack!" I found myself calling out desperately. I began to maneuver my way down a small stairway. "Please…please don't do this to me anymore."

My heart ached as I skimmed the nearby workers. I don't know when the tears began. I only noticed when one of the men handed me a tissue.

"Are you supposed to be in here, miss?"

"Jack? We have a Jack MacDonald. Jackie Boy! Get over 'ere!"

The voices started to swirl together. I didn't think my heart could race any faster. A red-head was pushed in front of me. Jackie Boy, apparently. Despite his nickname he looked to be in his 30's. No…no. It wasn't right.

"No…," I tried to calm myself. "John…John Calvert." I looked back to the entrance that suddenly seemed a lot farther. The pair had come into sight. It didn't take long for them to spot me too. I turned to the man who had given me the tissue.

"Is that man John Calvert?" I asked, pointing quite obviously. The man practically snickered.

"Of course not. That's Bobby. He's part of the stablehand." The anger towards the imposter suddenly flamed into an inferno.

"Please…where can I find John Calvert?"

"It's near 3 o'clock," he commented checking the large clock. "He's prolly back in his office."

I nodded a quick thanks, wasting no time in moving towards where he had directed me. My skirt snagged on a nail, or something along the way. I only briefly paused to tear it free. It wasn't important. I think I heard the woman yell out. My hand found the door and I didn't bother to knock.

The man jerked his head up from an otherwise clutter-free desk. I think he had been asleep. I looked over his features, familiar in every sense. His blue eyes held my own. They were such beautiful eyes. I couldn't move beyond the doorway. My hand still on the knob.

"Jack…" I could barely hear myself utter the name. I hardly think he could have.

I had always thought of myself as strong. The not-so-distant events proved it to me. Yet I stood there, the man my soul wept over, the image of one who haunted my every dream. The one I found myself living every second of the day for was here, sitting in front of me, very much alive. So many emotions flooded me at once I hardly knew what to think. I didn't realize I had stopped breathing until blackness swarmed into my awareness. I don't know if I hit the floor.


	8. Strangers

A.N.- Thank you so much for you reviews! Definite inspiration. I'm glad you all seem to be enjoying it so more. Love to hear any and all thoughts, comments, and such on this. I'll try to keep posting.

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When Rachel came into the small, back office, she hadn't expected to see the woman draped lifelessly in John's arms. The knot that had started while in the front only seemed more permanent.

"I'm sorry, she was rather insistent about coming back here."

"Nothing to be sorry about. I would have seen her." His eyes held the woman's relaxed face as he held her. She was even more beautiful when close. He realized his staring was doing nothing to help, so quickly looked up to the familiar face in the doorway. "I need some water, and a cloth."

He looked around the room, but an appropriate seat was scarce. The desk had to do and with a little maneuvering, the few items had been moved allowing her to lay across it.

"Do you know who she is, John? If you'd rather I…"

"I've got it from here, Rachel," John offered a faint smile. "She asked for me and I suppose I should find out why. She's the one who visits Miss Abby, that's all I know. I suppose in a little while I'll find out more. Can you hurry with that water please?"

…………………………………….

(Rose)

I heard his voice and almost thought it was a dream. My eyes opened in curiosity as the door to the office was closed and I immediately knew it had to be. He turned, his own eyes wide in surprise and offering a curious smile.

"Are you alright, Miss?"

I pushed myself to sit up on the wooden platform that apparently had become my bed. My posture seemed secure, no…I would not faint again like a weakling. Not in front of him.

"Jack?"

"John Calvert. You gave us a little scare. You were looking for me? Have to admit, never gotten that sort of reaction before." He gave a little chuckle, but nothing I expected. It was as though he was speaking to a stranger.

"Jack…" I repeated the name on my lips quietly, pleading. "It's me." His expression wore nothing of the recognition I had hoped for. The doubts flooded along with anger. Anger at whoever would allow this circus of events to torment me. I was being so strong, so…alive, only to be thrown this slap.

It took hardly any effort to pull myself off the foreign object, bringing myself to a stand, trying to piece together my thoughts, hold back my emotion. Only with him, only because of him could I ever find myself to be so frustratingly angry…and so utterly scared.

"You don't know me." It wasn't a question. I could see the answer in his eyes.

"Well, no, not really. I mean…I've seen you before, visiting Abigail. Not that I was peeping or anything. Really!" He got that look…of complete innocence and embarrassment that didn't entirely suit him. But it was amusing. "I'm doing a really bad job here of saving your opinion of me, aren't I?"

I couldn't resist a smile, but my heart couldn't hold onto it, molding my lips back into seriousness. "I thought you were dead."

His eyes narrowed with curiosity. "You're Rose."

"You remember? Please tell me you remember me, Jack!" I could feel my eyes watering despite my willpower. "You were dead. I didn't think to look..." My voice seemed to stall with a chocking sob I couldn't restrain and I didn't know if I could handle it if he…

"I can't remember anything before Titanic, Rose." I never wanted to curse God before that moment, before those words. How DARE he play with our lives like this, like we were no more than performers on the stage I so frequented.

"John?" I hadn't heard the young woman reopen the office door. She held something in her arms, but I couldn't compose myself to pay attention to details.

"Mr. Calvert," I began, drawing his attention back to me. If only I could keep things…professional. I couldn't break down. Not here. I reminded myself that I was only speaking to a ghost. "I'm sure…I'm sure we will have a lot to…a lot to discuss. Perhaps some answers. But I must go for now, I'm sure you understand. I'm certain you are very busy yourself with…"

"We can go somewhere else now, if you'd like to talk. I don't have to…"

I needed to leave. I needed to think. I needed to pray. I didn't know what I needed, just so that his eyes weren't focused on me. Eyes so familiar I knew their every heartbeat and every longing. I doubted my trust in those eyes once, but I knew better now. But I couldn't stay, not until I knew what I should do.

"No, I'm afraid today would not be," How could I tell him? He was so willing, so interested. How could I tell him I was terrified? "Appropriate."

"Tomorrow then?" He smiled questioningly.

I nodded with reluctant acceptance. Would I be any better tomorrow then this afternoon?

"I will be visiting Abigail at my usual time. If you would like to stop in…"

"That would be perfect. Tomorrow then?" His face lit up with excited hope.

"Tomorrow." I moved to the doorway where the woman was too anxious to let me pass.

"I could walk you home if you needed…I mean, if you'd like…"

"I'll be quite alright, Mr. Calvert, but thank you." I glanced again at the woman whose face tried to hide every emotion directed at me and decided I had an opinion I couldn't hold back. I turned once again to Jack. "You may want to see about getting someone else to play you. Bobby just didn't fit the role very well. It's his hands, he doesn't have an artist's hands."


	9. Stood Up

(Jack)

She left.

And I didn't stop her.

She was here, the Rose that has been haunting me since landing ashore, perhaps even longer, and I stood around like an idiot.

I found out what Rachel and Bobby had done and couldn't disguise that it made me upset. Not enough to do anything more than a few words, and the guilt on Rachel's face…no, I couldn't stay mad. But I had every intention of apologizing to Rose later today. Today, I was going to find out who we were. Three years of living as a stranger, and the idea of learning what sort of person I really was created an odd sort of dread.

But here I was, standing outside apartment #38. Would she be in there? Had I waited too long? As I raised my hand to knock it opened as if in anticipation.

"Oh, John, I didn't know you were coming today. What a nice surprise, I was just heading out to the market though."

I tried to be casual about peeking inside at the quietness. There was no one there.

"I know this must be pretty strange to be asking, but is Rose here?"

"Rose?" Her face lifted with a smile. "No, dear, she didn't come by today. If she was, she would have been here by now. I was wondering when the two of you would meet. I wasn't expecting it quite so soon, but that's good. Yes, very good." She seemed to drift for a moment, adjusting her shawl. "I was showing her your picture and something seemed to strike her about it. Is she alright? The way she took out of here I was worried something might be wrong."

"No…no, everything was fine. I've got your picture though, she left it in my office yesterday, actually. I think she was a little distracted. I went ahead and replaced the glass."

The elderly woman took the image with a contented appreciation. "You didn't have to do that, but it's nice to have back again. You were expecting her here? I wonder what could be keeping her, although usually she doesn't come in on Wednesdays, what with the performance schedule and everything. Mr. Ackers always tends to keep her later than usual. I keep warning the girl one day…well, maybe my worries are for nothing. But that man has an eye, and it's not for just the plays."

"Plays?"

"Oh yes, over by 57th street. Not a very large party, but they have their fun. I think that's what has kept Rose around for so long. They help distract her. Speaking of distractions, if I don't hurry out of here, it will be dark before I know it."

"It's still early. I wouldn't worry about it."

"Early, yes, but I had a peek at those clouds out there. Give it an hour or so, and you won't know the difference."

Her words passed by with little regard as I thought about the place she had just previously mentioned. My hands began to fidget.

" 57th street you said?" I knew the area, generally. Had a couple of deliveries when I was on the road.

"Yes," Abigail locked the door behind her. "It's a bit out of the main view, I can't remember the name of the theater. They call themselves the Washington Square Players, although I never understood the idea much. Several miles from the square. But then, they are young, probably just wanted something to sound important."

"I probably am coming across pretty rude right now. I'm sorry, not meaning to be." It had struck me I barely was asking about herself, but I didn't seem to be able to help it. Anxiety pressed against my skin like an iron rod and I was finding my focus scattered. Had Rose stood me up on purpose? Was everything alright? Plays? Performances? Had she forgotten me?

"You have something important on your mind, and I'm well off enough as it is. If you'll excuse me, Julia is expecting me any moment." A final smile before she started to head to the stairway. "If she is still down there, you had better hurry before it rains or you'll both be stuck."

I couldn't help the wide smile as some of my fears lifted. Of course, I should go meet her there. I wouldn't give in so easily, and I wouldn't let Rose either. It was a confidence I couldn't place, but I wasn't going to wait around for it to falter. I reached forward, hugging the sweet old woman before flying past her in the hall, taking several steps at a time on the way down.

…………………………………..

Disclaimers, Notes and all that: I'm going to be taking some liberties with the small performance group due to the very limited information I have on it and my wants to play with the idea :P

For those of you curious, there was an actual group that called themselves the Washington Square Players that started the Washington Square Theater. They started performing in the spring of 1915 and actually had a number of 'unknowns' who had formed/were involved in the group who went on to become highly involved in film, broadway, theater, etc… Very interesting lil tid-bits.

I also want to thank those reviewing…I'm a review addict…so please continue :P

Purple: you are awesome! Thanks for pushin me a lil because now I can't stop…I hate you…but you are still awesome!


	10. Distractions

A.N.- I am dedicating this chapter to DawsonGurl who has to be the fastest reviewer ever!!!!! you deserve another chapter!

>> >> >> >> >> >> >> 

"No!" The strong-willed voice seemed to echo through the room that was structured in a way that the sound intensified even without her temper. "You still just are not understanding! Helena would never do something like that! In either any form of the original plotline, or this menagerie of comedy!"

Rose stood on the small stage, papers in one hand, feet firmly in a stance as her eyes bored angrily into the director's. Her focus turned to one of the young men observing the conflict with expectance. The man's smile faltered as he realized what was coming next.

"Mark, tell him!"

He cleared his throat, straightening the chair he had been leaning back. His own script held on his lap.

"She is right, Nate. Helen, Paris…it's a thing. You can't have her just leave him, she loved him." The lanky man stood, a hand moved through his hair absently. "Love…come on, man, we haven't had a good love story yet. Think about how absolutely fanatic it could be…but people will love it because…?"

He left he answer open, spinning dramatically to the chorus of waiting actors, some sitting, some standing, some half-awake as they leaned against railing or whatever else they could find.

"Come on, someone has to be awake still!" He pointed to a chubby boy in the front.

"Tommy! Why will people love it?"

"Because," his mind drew a blank that his face matched. "People love love?"

"I couldn't have said it more perfectly!" He turned back to the director and persistent actress. "Come on, Nate, suicide? After she falls in love? I don't care how funny the death is…it's been done before. Happy endings have been done before. It doesn't matter."

He moved closer to the grey-suited man. Mustache almost close enough to touch as he whispered, "Besides, we much prefer a happy Rose. Don't we, especially with Betty out sick?"

"I heard that! I'm standing right here!" The hands were on her hips now.

Nathaniel Baker sighed with tiredness. It had been a long day and they all were feeling it.

"Alright, turn the scripts back in, I'll go make some adjustments. Meanwhile, I want that set worked on!" There was a groan as people started getting up and making their way to various tasks. Rose herself started to head to the costumes, hoping to piece together ideas for her own. An arm halted her.

"Is everything alright? You seem a little less into this. Even just a couple days ago, you were so excited to have this part, then start nitpicking over the script? It's just a script, Rose."

"I know, Mark, it's just…" she moved away slightly, sighing. "I have a lot on my mind right now. And no, I'm not going to talk about it." She had caught that look, a look of wanting her to open up her heart. Something she knew more than well enough never to do with Mark Ackers. He wasn't even close to the sort of man…

"Oh no!" Her eyes widened as she realized she hadn't been paying attention to the time. Her own watch safely at home, forgotten by the bedside. "Mark! Do you have the time?!"

He pulled out a pocket watch with ease, flipping the case open. "Quarter past four…" He nearly dropped the device when he heard a hissed 'shit' come out of the normally proper woman.

"I have to go!" She began running to a chair, retrieving her coat from its clutches before making her way to the theater entrance, leaving a very bewildered man standing in her wake.


	11. BitterSweet Release

A.N.- Short chapter, I know, but I thought this moment deserved its own.

>> > > > > > > > 

(Rose)

I stood, halted at the wide doorway, rain pelting with a determined ambition. I wasn't going to come by the theater today, but I needed the distraction. I needed to feel like the person I had become since he had gone. It had thrown me off in a shock I had dreamed of, but never truly expected.

He was right there and I didn't have the courage to even touch him. If I had, would it have made any difference? He couldn't remember, but could I have expected him to? After all, logically I told myself, our time together wasn't very long. Several days as compared to a lifetime.

The rain continued to pound in white sheets that left puddles on the muddy cobbles they called a road. I was being an idiot. How many times had I wished it? To be given this chance for something, anything with this boy…man…that I had loved. Even if he couldn't remember, I realized I wasn't even fighting for what remained. He deserved more than that.

I made a move to step into the chaos outside, but a voice stopped me.

"Don't do it."

I spun, finding Jack standing there with a curious look on his face. He made no move to come closer, but a smile formed. "Catch a cold or something if you go out into that."

For just that moment, I wanted to defend myself with a pang of annoyance, one that within the same moment melted into a mesh of joy and embarrassment.

"But if you still do, I came prepared." He smiled wider, pulling out a simple, black umbrella that had gone unnoticed at his side.

It was him. In that otherwise mundane moment, despite everything, I knew it was really him. Here, in front of me. Alive.

My eyes watered despite my attempt to keep control. Control I lost within that very instant as I was in his arms. He seemed stunned, but only for a moment before pulling me closer, arms taking me in a comfortable embrace, umbrella and all. I sobbed, with none of the inhibition I had kept as my companion since leaving the deck of the _Carpathia_. Tears I had only allowed for an instance here, an instance there, normally in my weaker moments in the dark of my own room before allowing sleep to consume me.

I wept. With every emotion I couldn't place, and all that could flicker clearly in my mind was that my Jack was here with me, alive. His words of comfort wrapped me almost as soothingly as the feel of his body against mine, yet I never understood a word of it as my heart released. Even the scent of his skin assured me that this moment was not only in the mind of a woman lost, sitting in the dark on an empty bed.


	12. Finding Comfort

(Jack)

She cried in a way I couldn't remember ever having a chance to see before and that tinge of a nag I felt was confirmed. I was something to this woman, and it had been deep. So I held her, like I knew she wanted to be held. I let her cry as I took her head with my free hand. It felt incredibly natural, the curls against my skin, but it was the same as before, sitting on an edge I couldn't yet reach. I wanted to curse at my inabilities but pushed the urge away, continuing to hold Rose as her tears dampened my shirt. I never would have considered pulling away.

So I waited, as her sobs quieted and her body grew limper against my own. I waited until she pulled back, but I kept hold on her arms as if a life vest, cautiously waiting for a response. She seemed to be collecting herself

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice unsteady. She managed an awkward attempt at a laugh. "I'm not usually the 'damsel' type."

"It's alright, Rose." Her eyes were damp, but the pain had dulled. "I should be asking if you are."

She nodded with a quiet breath. "You caught me off guard, I think. I was having a moment there, about the run in the rain, actually…"

"Yeah, I noticed that part." I couldn't help the grin and removed my hands, knowing she would be alright.

"…to go after you as a matter of fact!" She tried to restrain a sniffle, but didn't do a very good job. Her look also attempted to compose into some semblance of sternness, also failing pitifully. "I don't know, you could have knocked or something. How long have you been there anyway?"

"Yes, let me just knock on the curtain here…" There was sarcasm, but come on. Knock? I pretended to explore the closed curtain that separated the entrance from the foyer. She let out a relaxed laugh and I smiled at the reaction, turning back to her. "Well, I came in sometime around Menelaus' scheme. Couldn't quite bring myself to interrupt."

"I'm sorry, I just got so involved in it, and then Nate with his ridiculous ideas…"

"I told you it's alright. I saw Abigail, and she told me you were over here probably so I came to see it all for myself. Not something I'd get into myself, too much of an open book I'm told, but you seem so…passionate about it." I could still see the rain outside, relentless, but we were far out of its reach.

"Yes," she blushed and I found myself fascinated. "I really do enjoy it. I had seen many plays and operas growing up, but nothing like this. These characters, at least for most of the plays, are so very human. And even when they aren't, they confront situations and emotions so many people are afraid to acknowledge."

She spoke with pride about the group and I couldn't help but admire her. "We're still just starting, really, so any money from the shows goes into the building itself, costumes, and so on. But it's just a start, and for the most part we just have a lot of fun. Well…when I'm not disputing details. That is to say, I've learned life's too precious to waste, and I made a promise once…" The pain I knew was sitting just under the surface flickered again, but she fought for control and won with a warm smile as she seemed to realize herself.

"It's a sensitive subject for me, and now I'm rambling and you haven't even gotten a word in."

I had been thinking of so many responses, so many questions, comments, but I found myself silenced by those eyes of hers, eyes I swear were taking me back to the sea and I was following eagerly.

"Who was I, Rose?" The question escaped, blunt, and the unexpectedness of it was evident on her face. She paused, hesitantly before responding, her voice clear and precise as though she had practiced.

"Your name was Jack Dawson."


	13. Whispers of Speculation

A.N.- I know, I know…not so much Jack/Rose…but oh so exciting :P I would love to know what everyone thinks on where this story is going and how I am doing, so please review for my own comfort of mind :P

………………………………..

Rachel stood forlornly at the window, arms wrapping a shawl around her arms. It wasn't cold, but the air held a dark hue from the rain as it clattered on the overhang outside. He was out there, with 'her' most likely. She sighed with a tremor of defeat, forcing herself to pull away from the brightly colored curtains. The day was almost over.

The bell rang and she felt like she jumped a mile from surprise. The umbrella closed as the man brushed off what he could of the remaining water. He was handsome, reaching near thirty years she gathered. Dark hair slicked back against his head. She couldn't tell if it was from the rain or product, secretly hoping it was the prior.

"Bonjour, ma Belle," The accent left no doubt of his nation's background, but it took the woman slightly by surprise. There were not many French who walked into their doors. German, Italian, Irish, British…but the French? They often didn't immigrate to these shores and with the war going on, they tended to have other things on their mind. "I am here looking for Mr. John Calvert."

His accent was distinct, but his English was impeccable.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but he will not be in until tomorrow." Rachel smiled, picking up a book resting on the window sill by her side and proceeded to make her way back to her place at the desk. "Perhaps you would like to leave a message? Or come back tomorrow? Is it anything I can help you with? Mr…?"

"Mr. Denton," He smiled charmingly and offered a courteous bow. "Olivier Denton. I am here at the request of one of rather significant importance in the French government. Forgive me if I do not offer details. You see, we have long been searching a particular necklace that recent knowledge has led us here."

The woman eyed him cautiously but he gave nothing away from where he stood. "We deal with many different imports, Sir. However, jewelry is not very common. What could France want with a small company like our own?"

The man chuckled, "Miss…?"

"Miss Rachel Spinner, Sir."

"Miss Spinner, it is not your company I am here for, but Mr. Calvert. I have learned that several years ago, this item was in his possession and he may very well know where it currently resides. That is, if he himself does not already carry it. It is a diamond, Miss Spinner. A very rare diamond."

"I have never seen him with such a thing," Her mind searched but truly could never remember a time of it being mentioned. Perhaps John knew of it once, but it lay forgotten with all the others he had lost on that ship. "If he did possess something of that magnitude, I would certainly know of it."

"I see." The implications of his comment, as simple as it was, hit her like a blow. She should have never said as much. It was too much already and the way he watched her, it was intimidating.

"Well, Sir," her voice took an edge of defensiveness. "I'm certain what ever questions you will have with John, you can return another time when he will be in and can answer for himself." She turned away from the man, reaching for a pen on the counter behind her. Anything to make it seem like she had work to be done, she told herself.

"I have it on some good authority, he is out because of a woman, red hair, am I correct?"

Rachel turned, alarm suddenly filling her senses. "How did you know that?"

"I have been informed about anything recent concerning Mr. Calvert. They claim the woman was referred to as one Miss Rose DeWitt Bukater."

"That is correct." The man was making her increasingly concerned. She almost wished there was an easier way to call in someone from the shop.

"This is all very curious, especially since Rose DeWitt Bukater is dead."

"But," Rachel's eyes had widened at the statement as she struggled to find a response. "That's impossible. She couldn't be dead. The woman was standing here, right in front of me. Are you to tell me a ghost walked into my office, Mr. Denton."

"What I am trying to tell you, Miss Spinner, is do not allow yourself to be a fool." There was a stab of insult that the tone of his voice did not match. His posture remained where it had, never making a move closer, never giving an air of anything less that proper civility. "People are not kind in this world, they will do anything when the priceless is involved and, Mademoiselle, this diamond is priceless. Rose DeWitt Bukater was the daughter of a Mrs. Ruth DeWitt Bukater who is currently living in Philadelphia I believe."

"So you are to tell me that I am to trust you with this seemingly important information you so freely offer?"

"I will not tell you where to place your heart, that of course is your own prerogative. I have no doubt, that Mr. Calvert is innocent in his actions, however it would be a shame for him to be…duped…by such a clear imposter."

"Imposter or not, he will be able to tell soon enough," or so her soul wished it. A part of her desperately hoped it wasn't true, but a small part, just a small part, wished to God it was.

"If, perhaps, you would be so kind as to provide me with the answer to that…I'm certain you will find…"

"I would never betray…"

"Non, non, non," He shook his head dramatically, shifting the umbrella resting on his arm. "Betray? Never, I would never ask that. It is more than clear what this man means to you. I too, am merely looking out for this young man's safe keeping."

There was confusion. Who was he that she should trust him with even a word. He didn't appear false, from what she could see…and he did sound sincere. But to be put into a situation like this of any kind. Who was John before she had met him? Even he didn't know.

"The truth is, if he does in fact still carry this diamond, as it is believed by a select number of persons, he will never be safe. The dice have been thrown and the game is being played out, Miss Spinner."

She couldn't look at him, still focusing on the desk, anything on the desk. Her eyes found a pencil, her thoughts found nothing definite. She was full of confusion and scenarios ran through her mind but with all her prayers to God, none were answered immediately.

"I would offer him a fair price for the item, one that would more than allow him comfort for the rest of his life perhaps. Life for love, children, happiness."

It was what she always wanted for him, even if she wasn't a part of it. It was an amazing offer, but in order to achieve it…"If he even has it that is, Mr. Denton."

"Yes, if he has it." He shrugged with casualness. "If not, then it is all the same to me, but still there are some who will act on the rumors they have heard. And there is still the matter of this woman who calls herself by the elegant Rose DeWitt Bukater. Did she look like a woman raised in the highest branches of first class, Miss Spinner? Eating off china and gathering with royalty?"

Now that she thought about it, she really hadn't.

"I have taken up far too much of your time, I apologize. I will return, Miss Spinner, and perhaps by then, we will both have a better understanding of these events." He offered another bow accompanied with a smile she had never imagined could be so amiable. "It was a pleasure to meet you, ma Belle."

Rachel found herself without words as the man took his leave and exited the office. She was left with feelings of uncertainty that did not set well.


	14. Rainy Day Chats

There was hardly a drizzle left outside the building as Rose's gaze fell to the wide window of the room. Propriety was the last thing on her mind when she led the man at her side upstairs to a sitting area they were certain would be free from any ears of passing traffic from the members who tried their luck with the downpour.

Mark had raised a brow and Rose caught it, choosing to ignore any response. He would ask questions eventually. As would Margaret, and Joan, and William, among others who were sure to hear of it by the end of the next day, if not sooner…they knew her, to the extent she allowed anyone to know her. And the young man with her was a new face, one that drew a characteristic out of Rose they had never glimpsed.

She had introduced them, briefly…but easily pushed aside any further chatter until another time.

It had been only a half an hour, if that, wrapping how little Rose realized she knew about the man and his past. As far as their relationship, how much do you open up to someone who sees you as still a stranger? How do you explain the intimacies without causing him to think you were only a fling? She very briefly flirted with the idea it might have just been that…wondering what would have come of them if they had walked off that ship together. But her heart knew it was only fearful contemplations.

So she tried to explain: her engagement, her unhappiness, how he had saved her time and time again from the moment he stepped forward on that first night, until the very last. Jack simply listened, with a comment here and there. Moments like the spitting where he found it very hard to believe he could ever get a woman like Rose to spit. She vowed to prove him wrong, another time when they were outside, of course. He dared her otherwise.

She had yet another moment of calling him by the name she kept as a treasure, before catching herself back into the reality of their situation. "You've always been 'Jack' to me, but if you'd rather I…"

He leaned forward, closing some of the distance between where they sat, taking her hands into his own. "Rose, I've been waiting for this, for you, for three years now. Never getting any closer, never expecting to get anywhere to tell you the truth. I kept the name John Calvert because I didn't want to have any expectations, no disappointments with a name I couldn't even remember let alone live up to. And I guess it turns out I have some living up to do."

He smiled, but Rose's doubts still remained as he continued. "I wanted to make this a new life for myself 'cause I didn't have anything to look back to. Kinda miserable actually, living and always wondering what you left behind. The worst part is the not knowing. At least I've got something now."

Rose wondered whether he meant the details she had explained, but the way he watched her…

"I didn't know…I mean, this has just been a lot." Rose couldn't turn away from his eyes as they studied her intently. Under any other person, she would have been uneasy. "The last thing I ever expected was to find you, everything I knew…you were dead. Shock, confusion, fear. I think it was worse because I had moved on, in most ways at least. When you knew…what was going to happen, you made me promise to do that, and I've never taken anything so seriously."

"There's too many serious people in the world, Rose. I'd rather see your smile any day." She couldn't help but smile in response to his. Inwardly, she scolded herself for feeling like some little school girl, yet at the same time, she relished in the butterflies. But there were still other things to consider.

"So, where does this leave us?" It had gone from fanciful emotions to the heart of reality within that one sentence. It was answered with a squeeze of the hand.

"Well, for one…" Jack stood up, assisting Rose with ease. He never released her hand as they stood in the otherwise empty room. "It's getting late. Maybe I could walk you home?"

Rose glanced at the window again that still held a mild drizzle. In truth, she was almost afraid to leave, now that she was here, with him…she was afraid if she woke up tomorrow, it would all have been a dream. A marvelous, far too short dream.

"I still have that umbrella if we need it." She turned back to him as he picked up the object and moved her hand under his arm in a gentlemanly manner. "Are you ready, my lady?"

There was a giggle, "Certainly, good sir."

"Jack," he responded quietly as they moved to the doorway. He smiled as he felt a serenity not often allowed. "Just Jack."


End file.
